


Snatched Moments

by Jenn_Harper



Series: Thread Upon Thread [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Historical RPF
Genre: Alternate Ending, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Love, M/M, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Spoilers, inserted scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:53:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27773338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenn_Harper/pseuds/Jenn_Harper
Summary: A series of inserted scenes developing the relationship between Eivor (male) and Ubba Ragnarsson which is only hinted at in Valhalla.There will be unavoidable spoilers. Sorry!I am mostly canon compliant, but there are some things I have changed, and there will be an alternative ending to what was provided in the game (for Ubba.)I hope you enjoy it. Feedback is always welcome!Jenn/Harper :)
Relationships: Eivor/Ubba Ragnarsson (Assassin's Creed)
Series: Thread Upon Thread [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2075946
Comments: 44
Kudos: 117





	1. Repton

**Author's Note:**

> A thousand thanks to Myriath for being my beta reader. You're a star ❤

Ubba was so much taller than Eivor was, so much broader, that just being near him, as now, reaching out to take the arm ring, he felt surrounded by the aura of the man – a warmth, definitely; a kind of security in the solidity of his existence, in his total confidence, in his natural authority. Their eyes met as Eivor took a hold of the arm ring, their fingers brushing. Ubba was speaking, something about coming to the clan’s aid if needed, but there was only white noise in Eivor’s head as he felt something solidify inside himself, something taking shape beneath the surprisingly gentle green eyes that promised much in the flickering light of the torches.  
But did they promise? Was what Eivor saw there only what he had hoped to see?  
He tucked the arm ring into his pocket, smiling self-consciously, before his attention was claimed by Ivarr, or rather, by Ivarr’s jealousy. He was holding out an old axe, which he had surely just picked up off the ground, blood still fresh on its handle, and was offering it to him; but even as Eivor took it with a smile and thanked Ivarr, he watched Ubba from the corner of his eye, saw his look linger, thinking he was unobserved. There was that softness again, but also something else – a wistfulness, perhaps.  
The moment ended. The brothers went off together into the camp, leaving Eivor to do what he pleased. He knew he should set out back to Ravensthorpe, but it was already growing late, and after the battle with Leofrith, he was too tired to contemplate getting into the saddle.  
He sought out the house of the skald he’d met on the island in the bay, and threw himself down onto the thin layer of straw on the floor. He had slept in much worse places.  
Exhausted as he was though, he did not sleep at once, his mind instead circling around those green eyes, that lopsided smile, the calm authority. Ivarr’s words returned to him; the dreams that he’d said Ubba had of living a quiet life, of hanging up the axe, and now, unbidden, Eivor’s mind began to create an image of what that might look like...  
Ivarr had said these things with disdain, assuming that Eivor was like him, a drengr for life; but what Eivor had felt was actually a deep resonance with that dream. Perhaps not now, not while things remained to be done, alliances to be made and a future to be secured; but one day, when the Saxons were pacified, he too wanted to settled life. Ubba was older than him by at least twenty winters, perhaps more; Eivor knew that if he had been fighting for that long, he too would long for the quiet of a simple life. Sometimes, he longed for it now, and his days of war were relatively few.  
He sighed, and closed his eyes, longing for sleep.

A knock on the door woke him. He sat up, momentarily confused by his surroundings. He had been dreaming of home. A glance at the window told him not much time had passed. Bright moonlight slanted in across the floor.  
‘Who is it?’  
‘Ubba.’  
He felt his pulse quickening. He stood and unbarred the door.  
In the light of the torches beside the door, the large Dane looked endearingly hesitant. It was the first time Eivor had seen him without armour, just a simple tunic and pants. It suited him, these simple garments.  
‘What is it?’ Eivor asked, ‘Has something happened?’  
‘Calm yourself,’ Ubba said. ‘There is no danger. I have something to say to you.’  
Eivor held the door open, then closed it behind Ubba, barring it again. The house was only small, and Ubba seemed to fill it with his presence.  
‘Forgive me for waking you,’ he said, his eyes meeting and holding Eivor’s from across the room. ‘I could not sleep, as is often the case after battle.’  
Eivor nodded, his pulse quickening. ‘It is no bother.’  
He took a step closer, a slight frown was on his brow as he chose his words. Eivor found himself unconsciously moving forward himself, a half a step. Ubba noticed the movement, and a smile tilted one corner of his mouth. He said, ‘I like to speak plainly, Wolfkissed. I think that we both want the same thing.’  
Eivor took another step, so that they were now very close. ‘Yes,’ he said, very quietly. ‘Yes, I think we do.’  
They met in the middle of that tiny room, Ubba taking Eivor’s wrist loosely in one hand and pulling him against himself, unresisting. All hesitancy gone, he took Eivor’s chin in one calloused hand, and tilted his face upwards. For a long moment, their eyes held – those green eyes so filled with desire that Eivor wondered how he could have doubted what it was the older man had wanted. He felt giddy, caught up in his powerful presence, his own desire surging through his body.  
The moment broke when Ubba dropped his head and claimed Eivor’s mouth; his lips unexpectedly tender, but his hands demanding a capitulation which Eivor did not hesitate to give. 

Eivor woke to morning light outside the window. He was pressed back into Ubba’s body where he slept behind him on the floor, snoring softly, his left arm slung over Eivor’s hip in a loosely possessive way. The morning air was cold, and the fire in the hearth had died down to nothing, but he could never be cold, enfolded in Ubba’s warmth.  
He closed his eyes, enjoying the moment of possession, knowing full well that when the other man woke, it would be past, and they would go in their own directions, chasing their own glory - but for this one moment, there was only quiet, only the reassuring sound of his breathing, of that rough, calloused hand resting on his hip.  
Ubba stirred, and Eivor almost held his breath, wondering what he would do, half expecting he would wish to leave at once; but instead, the hand that had rested on his hip moved upwards and pulled Eivor more tightly against him.  
In a voice blurred with sleep, he said, ‘I had thought it a dream, and yet here you still are.’  
‘It was no dream,’ Eivor said huskily as he rolled onto his back so that he could look up into the eyes, such startling green, greedy with desire to have him again. There was a lump in his throat as he said, ‘Only a snatched moment, before our paths must diverge.’  
Ubba kissed him before saying huskily, ‘Then we shall have to make it two snatched moments, that the way may feel shorter.’  
He did not say it: not then, and not later as they dressed and parted at the door, one final lingering kiss goodbye, a long intense look - but Eivor felt the promise of it, that their paths must surely cross again.


	2. Quatford

Ivarr's funeral ship slowly burnt away in the darkness. When it has disappeared from view down the river, Eivor and Ubba turned back towards Quatford, walking close together though not speaking. There were no words to be said yet. They went together into the longhouse as if they had discussed it beforehand; they sat on one of the benches, side by side, and though others drank that night, they did not intrude on the two men, their grief clear to see.

Each time Ubba’s cup was empty, Eivor refilled it; and after a time, Ubba began to talk.  
He began with tales of his and Ivarr’s childhood: their rivalry, the friction that had always been between them, the sense of competition.   
‘I always felt conflicted towards him,’ he admitted quietly. ‘I always wished he would calm down and let things settle; but in truth…’ He paused a moment before continuing. ‘In truth, I wished I could be more like him. More charismatic, a little wilder.’ Eivor smiled gently as Ubba added wistfully, ‘I always knew it wasn’t in my nature, but as a boy I wished it anyway.’.  
As he got drunker, he talked about his father, the legendary Ragnar Lothbrok, who had left a trail across the world like a comet across the sky, but an inescapable pressure on his sons to burn brighter even than he had - a pressure that Ivarr had felt much more strongly than Ubba had. He spoke briefly about his mother, who he barely remembered; the only image he retained of her was green, intelligent eyes and a sweet singing voice that he sometimes dreamt of. There was a softness in his face when he spoke of her that reminded Eivor poignantly of his feelings towards his own mother. He had risked a hand on Ubba’s arm at that moment, and Ubba had accepted the gesture, briefly resting his own hand on top of Eivor’s. They had to say with their eyes and these few gestures what they did not feel ready to show in any other way.  
At last, when Ubba was swaying slightly, having drunk enough mead to fell an ox, he dropped his voice, and began to speak to Eivor of his dream: of hanging up the axe, finding a quiet place to lay his head, and settling at last.   
‘I do not fear being an old drengr at the fireside, telling tales of my past glories, and the sagas of my father and brothers. Ivarr made no secret of his disgust. I saw he thought I had grown soft.’ He shook his head with a frown, but then looked at Eivor almost shyly - strange to witness in one who was always seemed so confident. He added tenderly, ‘I know I can tell you though. I trust you because I know you want the same thing.’ Eivor has smiled a little blurrily at that, risking another touch of hand to hand, stealthily reassuring him that he was right.  
When Ubba eventually fell off the bench mumbling to himself, Eivor called for help and they carried him to a quiet corner of the long house to sleep it off. 

In the morning, Ubba was already up when Eivor woke. He asked the nearest person if he'd gone, and was told that he had not; at least, only down to the river.  
Eivor went after him, using the zip-line down to the bank.  
‘Eivor,’ Ubba called from where he sat in the shade, his back against a tree. He was naked from the waist up, having been swimming, probably to refresh himself, though there was no denying he looked unwell from the excess of the night before.   
Eivor smiled. ‘I have just come to say goodbye.’  
‘Sit with me a moment before you go,’ Ubba said quietly.  
Eivor did, sitting on the grass by his side. ‘How was the water?’  
‘Cold,’ Ubba said wryly, ‘Though not cold enough to damp the fire in my belly or the ache in my head. What did you put in my mead?’ There was the hint of a smile on his face.  
Eivor grinned. ‘It’s not what was in it, but how much of it you drank, Ubba.’  
Ubba smiled back, but then winced and closed his eyes with a grimace. After a moment, he said, ‘Thank you. For letting me talk last night. I hope I didn’t say anything that I should regret.’  
Gently, Eivor said, ‘Even if you did, I would not be the one to repeat it.’  
Ubba glanced over at him, and for a moment their eyes met. Eivor felt just as he had in Repton, as though he was being embraced by the warm presence of the other man. The desire they shared thrummed between them like a living thing.  
Ubba looked away, sighing slightly. There was regret in his voice. ‘And so we must part ways again.’  
Eivor found himself smiling – the kind of smile that came from deep down inside and could not be repressed. Ubba glanced at him, and seeing the smile, couldn’t help himself but smile back; but he tried to remain serious. He looked away along the river as he said, ‘Wolfkissed…’ Then he paused, hesitating.  
Eivor looked at him and waited, the smile still in place. A moment passed and he prompted, ‘I thought you said you liked to speak plainly?’  
Ubba acknowledged this with a wry smile before he said quietly, ‘I had thought that when Ivarr died, if I still lived, that I would wish to follow him...’ He looked at Eivor from the corner of his eye, the smile still on his lips. ‘But it is not so.’  
Eivor nudged Ubba’s shoulder with his own, and for a moment they grinned at one another; perhaps Eivor might have said more, but a voice called down from above, echoing across the water, ‘Ubba? Where are you?’  
Ubba sighed. ‘The bishop.’ He rolled his eyes, and stood, picking up the tunic which lay beside him on the grass.   
Eivor stood too, admiring the muscular lines of Ubba’s torso and chest as he raised his arms up to pull the tunic over his head. He was beautifully proportioned - very tall, and muscular in a utilitarian way, borne of many years on the battlefield and in field camps. He had many scars that could be seen amongst the tattoos, though the largest ran from shoulder to ribs on his left side, then turned sharply right, and downwards…   
The tunic dropped into place, hiding him once more, and Eivor looked up, seeing that his attention hadn’t gone unnoticed. He smiled mischievously, and Ubba shook his head, as though he should be ashamed of himself, though he was grinning the whole time.  
‘Until we meet again, Wolfkissed.’  
They grasped hands, eyes holding for a moment, before stepping back from one another, conscious of the Bishop waiting above. 

Eivor watched Ubba go away along the riverbank, his back straight, shoulders squared, head held high; then turned in the opposite direction, going to fetch his horse and set off for Ravensthorpe.   
He realised, galloping along the road south, that he was still grinning. He had not been so happy in a very long time.


	3. Delivering a Letter

_Ubba, my commander, my friend,_  
_I hope you are in high spirits in this warm weather. While Lunden never gets as cold as Norway, it rains here nearly every day. I feel as cold and grey as a fish. A common affliction here, I have found._  
_Still, the walls hold strong and our larders stay fat with bounty. I do not miss going a-viking. I’ve seen enough golden sunrises for my days. Now I am ready to rest on my laurels and have my taste of the city’s trollops._  
_If you grow tired of sleeping on ships, or of wearing Ivarr around your neck like a noose, there is always a throne for you here._  
_Your brother in arms, Tryggr._

Everything was finished in Lunden. Eivor was leaving Stowe and Erke secure in their places, their city safer than it had been for many years. They were all gathered together in the Governor’s Villa to celebrate, and Eivor, putting down his drink, glanced around, looking for the two reaves. They were near the stairs, heads bent together, chuckling at some joke they were sharing, the love between them obvious even from across the room. They were perhaps the sweetest couple that Eivor had ever witnessed together, and he found that it awakened him an almost unbearable yearning to go to Repton. If these two could be so open, at least to those who cared for them, then there was yet hope for…  
He stopped himself short. What was he thinking? What hope was he telling himself there was?  
He knew he cared very deeply for Ubba – he'd tried and failed to define the bounds of his affection and had stumbled on the dizzying realisation that there were no edges to the feeling; that the more he thought of the campaign when they’d first met, the night in Repton, the time spent with him in Quatford, the more the warmth welled up inside himself….  
He sternly told himself that if he allowed that as grounds for hope, then he was a fool. He could not be certain of precisely what it was Ubba felt in return, though he wasn’t blind. It was clear he felt something. If he was optimistic and supposed that Ubba returned his affection in anything like the same way, that didn't change the fact that he still could not imagine any way in which they could actually be together. He told himself the idea was faintly ridiculous. Ubba would always be at the head of the army, and Eivor would always be in Ravensthorpe or working with allies, wherever that might take him.  
What hope could there be in the chaos of all that?  
His thoughts were thankfully interrupted. He saw Stowe look over, and then taking something from Erke, cross the room. Eivor found himself being presented with a letter – a letter he had inadvertently read while investigating the murder of Tryggr on his first day in the city. He knew it was addressed to Ubba, Tryggr’s ex-commander and friend. He looked down at the letter, then up at Stowe in enquiry.  
He said, ‘I have one last favour to ask of you, Eivor.’  
He took the letter from the reave’s hand as he said, ‘Name it.’  
‘Ubba Ragnarsson must be advised of Tryggr’s death, and I would not like such news to come from a messenger. Erke and I were hoping that you might take it to him, and deliver this letter into his hands.’  
Eivor’s heart leapt at the idea - any excuse to see Ubba again was welcome - but he felt it contract at the same time. He dreaded bringing him more bad news.  
‘Of course,' he said gently. 'This news will be easier to hear coming from a friend.’  
Stowe nodded. ‘Yes, that’s what we thought.’ Eivor frowned slightly, and anticipating the question, Stowe added, ‘Erke has contacts in Repton. We heard that you and their commander had become close.’  
Eivor felt himself flushing slightly, lost for words; but Stowe tactfully turned the subject on to other things. 

Eivor arrived at Repton at first light, having ridden through the night, but there was already movement in the city. Bakers were at their work, the air thick with the scent of baking bread, the scent of damp, and the smoke from the blacksmiths forge, and there was another scent, a scent peculiar to Repton, and it filled Eivor’s mid with memories of that night, many months past now. He tried not to think about it, his heart already flip-flopping in his chest, but it was hopeless.  
He went straight to the tent he knew to be Ubba’s, beneath the walls at one end of town, only a short distance from the skald’s house.  
Two men seated outside the tent sharpening their axes saw him coming. One greeted him in a friendly way. ‘Eivor Wolfkissed. What brings you north again?’  
He said, ‘I bring news for Ubba Ragnarsson.’  
The man who was speaking said, ‘He’s gone over at the ship yard with his protege, Vegh. They train over there.’  
‘Thank you,’ Eivor said, turning away.

He heard him before he saw him. He sounded stern but not angry. ‘I told you to stand firm, Vegh. That is not firm!’  
Coming around the half-finished bow of a boat, Eivor stopped, smiling, and leant back against the timber, not wanting to interrupt.  
A young man, perhaps in his mid-teens, his face red with anger, was lying flat on his back, a practice sword by his side. Ubba was standing over him with his hands on his hips.  
‘Get up!’ he demanded.  
Vegh, scowling, scrambled to his feet. ‘Why do you have to hit so hard? We’re practicing.’  
Ubba opened his mouth to answer, but then noticed Eivor. His stern look faded into a smile, that warm, crooked smile that flooded Eivor with a rush of affection so forceful he felt giddy.  
‘He hits hard,’ Eivor said, turning to Vegh to give himself a moment to gather his feelings and try to stop grinning like an idiot, ‘because he wants you to always be prepared for the worst.’  
Vegh grimaced again. ‘Whatever you say, Eivor.’  
Ubba took the practice sword from the young man and ruffled his hair affectionately. ‘We’ll train more later.’  
The young man slouched off, giving Eivor a curious look as he passed. Ubba put the practice swords into a rack nearby, then turned to Eivor, the smile not having shifted. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here Wolfkissed – but I’m glad of it.’  
Eivor walked towards him, his face growing serious. Sombrely, he said, ‘I’m glad to see you too, but I come with bad news. Tryggr is dead.’  
The smile fell away and the lines of his face hardened. ‘Dead?’  
‘Murdered by his enemies in his own villa,’ Eivor said gently. ‘The reaves enlisted my aid in discovering the murderers identities. Vengeance has been served upon them.’  
Ubba drew closer that he could rest a hand on Eivor’s shoulder. He searched Eivor’s face, looking for Eivor knew not what. At last he said warmly, ‘Thank you. Tryggr was a good man, a good drengr. Now he feasts in Valhalla.’  
Eivor smiled, acutely conscious of the hand on his shoulder, that rough and calloused hand that he longed to feel on his skin once more, caressing him…. but he was also conscious of the shipyard workers who were flooding onto the island, talking between themselves and glancing at the two of them as they started their work day. He dragged his mind with difficulty away from the abyss, and took out the letter. ‘Tryggr wrote this before he was killed. The reaves tasked me with bringing it to you.’ He held it out to Ubba, looking up into his face, feeling his cheeks grown warm with the intensity of the look that Ubba was still giving him, his feelings in tumult, his desire roaring through his veins. He felt delirious.  
‘Eivor,’ Ubba said, very softly, ignoring the letter, ‘I want you.’  
Eivor murmured stupidly, ‘Now?’  
Ubba almost laughed at that. With humour in his voice, his eyes dancing, he said, ‘Now – and for as long as I can have you.’  
They had both begun to smile, each mirroring the feelings of the other; Eivor first, then Ubba in return.  
At the same time, they both spoke. Eivor said, ‘I hadn’t dared to hope…’ and Ubba said, ‘I didn’t think you would…’  
Then they both stopped and Eivor chuckled. Ubba said quietly, ‘I have some things to take care of this morning, but then if you wish to, we can ride out to hunt this afternoon.’  
Eivor said equally quietly, ‘I would like that.’  
For a moment, Ubba rested his hand on Eivor’s cheek, gently caressing the line of his jaw. ‘Meet me at the city gate when the sun’s at its peak.’  
Eivor nodded his agreement, and they parted reluctantly, Eivor watching him walk away towards the city with long strides, greeting those he knew. He could not believe that such a man wanted him - but his heart sang with the knowledge that it was true.


	4. Hunting

Eivor slowed as he passed through the church, seeing ahead that Ubba was waiting for him beside the wooden gate which was still under construction. He was leaning back against the wall, hands tucked behind his back, face turned upwards to catch the sun, eyes closed, a soft smile on his lips.   
Eivor was struck with the reality that that smile was because of him, and for a moment he felt how profound that was; how such a small thing as a smile could mean so much, how proud he was to give that to him.  
‘So – where do we hunt?’ he asked as he drew nearer.  
Ubba opened his eyes and straightened, giving him a warm, lazy smile which made Eivor’s stomach flip over. ‘If we ride west, there’s a boar I’ve been on the trail of for weeks now.’ He grinned. ‘Today I’m feeling lucky.’

They mounted up and turned away from Repton, letting their horses pick the way carefully down to the riverbank, then along it, the wide river on their right.  
They were silent for a time, content to simply be together; but at length Ubba said, ‘I was thinking this morning about Tryggr. Ivarr couldn’t stand him. Used to say he was soft.’  
‘Ivarr said that about a lot of people,’ Eivor observed mildly.  
‘He wasn’t wrong,’ Ubba said, ‘Not about Tryggr, and not about me.’ He looked at Eivor from the corner of his eye. Eivor realised fondly that he was embarrassed. ‘I seem to recall I told you all about that in Quatford, though I half hoped I’d dreamt it.’  
Eivor chuckled gently. ‘I’m surprised you can remember anything of that night; but if you told me anything of your softness, I have kept it for myself.’  
Their eyes met then, and Ubba smiled, but said no more about it just then.  
They’d reached an outcrop of rock that thrust up in the middle of the forest, and Ubba suggested they leave the horses. ‘It gets rugged ahead.’  
They went forwards on foot. Eivor followed Ubba, clambering over rocks and scrambling up hills loose with fallen leaves; but at last they climbed up onto a rocky outcrop, flat at the top, where they could lay, peering down on the place that Ubba had seen the boar before.  
‘They’re creatures of habit,’ he said quietly. ‘All we need do is wait.’

Laying side by side, the quiet of the forest descended upon them.   
To begin with, Eivor watched the clearing below; but as the moments passed, he found his awareness of Ubba increasing until he could think of nothing else:  
It was a fine afternoon for late autumn, but there was a cold breeze coming from the north, snow already on mountaintops in that direction; but Eivor could only feel the warmth where their shoulders and arms rested against each other, suffusing his body with longing.   
The sound of the birds in the forest below, the distant rush of the river, the sighing of the wind in the trees were a beautiful symphony, but all he could hear was the small shifting movements that Ubba made, the quiet humming under his breath from time to time, as though he constantly had a song running through his mind that burst out now and then.   
The air was fresh, pine scented, but Eivor was conscious only of his scent, of leather and the musk peculiar to himself, that filled his senses and sent his mind tumbling into memories of the night when they had taken one another…   
He wasn’t aware that his eyes had drifted; to his profile, to the braided mess of his hair, to the sweep of his neck where he longed to bury his face and linger with his teeth as he had done before, to the muscular arms that had held him close, possessively pulling Eivor against himself, never close enough…  
The blood in his veins was singing his name, his heart was thundering inside his chest: Desire; raw passionate desire.  
‘You’re supposed to be watching for the boar, Wolkissed,’ Ubba said, glancing at him with a wry smile, his deep voice resonant with humour, and something darker - his own wanting. ‘Focus on the hunt.’  
He met Ubba’s gaze and in a voice as thick with desire as molasses, he said, ‘I can hunt two things at once.’  
Ubba chuckled. ‘First we hunt, then we…’ He paused, grinned, and chose different words. ‘Then you can have as much of my attention as you want – but not before.’  
Eivor murmured, ‘All of it,’ which made Ubba smile again, but he obediently turned back to the forest floor.   
He was grinning though. He wondered what any of their friends would think to see them laying there, side by side on a rock, grinning like two fools, their hearts as light as the clouds.

The boar never appeared, not that either of them minded their lack of success.  
The days were short at that time of year, and the sun was already heading for the horizon when Ubba sat up and said, ‘Not today, it seems.’   
‘Back to Repton?’ Eivor asked, keeping his voice light.  
Ubba said softly, ‘I have somewhere else in mind.’

The ruined tower overlooked the town below, a smattering of yellow lights in the steadily darkening valley.   
Ubba lit a fire while Eivor threw down the animal skins which he kept for the nights he was forced to sleep rough.  
Giving the fire one last prod, Ubba stood and came to where Eivor was standing, looking up at the bright stars, visible above through the shifting branches of a pine tree that grew inside the tower, filling the space with its fresh scent; sparks from the fire swirled upwards, dancing into the darkness...  
He took Eivor’s face gently between his large, strong hands and kissed him deeply, searchingly, tenderly... but such gentleness could not last as all restraint slipped away before the sheer force of their long-denied desire, and they sank down onto the skins.  
Perception of the world narrowed to pure sensory experience: battle hardened hands rasping against soft skin; the strong, insistent demands of lips on those sensitive, secret places sought and discovered; shivers of pleasure and prickling skin; the indescribable sensation of beard bristling against inner thighs; and the particular joy that came from the giving of pleasure; each groan and cry of delight echoed around that lonely tower and bound them together more tightly than before.  
In those moments, what they had been before was burnt away, and all that remained was love.

Later, when things had mellowed, they lay together under their combined cloaks, facing each other. Eivor’s eyes were closed, a beatific smile on his face as Ubba, his hand resting on his nape, stroked his cheek with his thumb. He said lovingly, ‘This will not be all, Eivor.’  
Eivor opened his eyes, and smiled softly. ‘I know.’


	5. May the Ways be Short

They had gone ‘hunting’ again the following afternoon, and each afternoon thereafter; each time, staying in the tower, each time, strengthening the bond they were building between them.  
No one said a word about these excursions in Repton, but there could be no doubting there was talk. No one dared bring it up, of course – at least, not to their faces - but only a blind man would have missed seeing that people knew what was going on.  
On the tenth night, very late, contentedly nestled against Ubba in the flickering firelight, Eivor looked up into his face and asked, ‘Do you mind the talk?’  
Ubba gave him his sweetest smile. He had wondered how long it would be before he asked. ‘I don’t care who knows. Do you, Wolfkissed?’  
He replied thoughtfully, ‘No. I was never one for deceit.’  
Ubba kissed his forehead, and sighed contentedly. ‘Good. Then we’re agreed.’  
They were silent for a long time then; their relationship had this quality of being always comfortable and companionable, whether they talked or not.  
Ubba, who had been staring up at the stars thoughtfully, broke the silence when he said quietly, ‘When the army is in their winter quarters, I mean to go north, to Halfdan.’  
Eivor looked at him in surprise. The relationship between the two brothers, Ubba had told him, was a difficult one. Halfdan was a moody, mercurial man, and Ubba often lost patience with his erratic directives and changes of mind.  
’You do?’  
Ubba shifted onto his side, propping his head up on his elbow. He smiled gently at Eivor. He really was the most beautiful man Ubba had ever seen. ‘I’m going to tell him I’m giving up command.’  
Eivor stared at him for a long moment, searching his face for any sign of doubt, but there was none to be found. He was decided.  
Eivor had a lump in his throat as he asked, ‘Where will you go?’ He irrationally feared the answer would be back to the Dane-lands.  
Ubba smiled that charming, lop-sided smile, and said, ‘That depends.’ He was looking at Eivor meaningfully, waiting for him to catch up.  
Eivor stared at him for a moment, then felt himself flushing as he grasped what he was really saying. With his heart in his mouth, he said, ‘You… you wish to be my consort, Ubba Ragnarsson?’  
For the first time since they had met, Ubba gave a low, brief chuckle and shook his head at both the question, and the formality of Eivor’s phrasing. ‘You’re surprised, Eivor Wolfkissed?’ he asked, eyebrow raised in enquiry. Then he chuckled again. ‘Yes, I wish to be your consort. If you will have me.’  
Eivor smiled then, a smile that would warm a man sitting on ice in midwinter. ‘I would be honoured to have you.’  
‘Good,’ he said, laying back down as though it was nothing at all that had just been agreed between them, though his heart was hammering harder than a blacksmith at his anvil. ‘At the end of winter then, I will come to you.’  
Eivor snuggled close against him, and hid his face against his chest. He felt too much, overwhelming love flooding his senses, and he couldn’t bear for Ubba to see all that feeling: not yet, not now.  
Ubba, understanding, gently stroked his hair with one hand while embracing him with the other, holding him close. He felt that he was cradling some precious, fragile thing – he felt so tender, his chest ached.  
Eivor fell asleep like that, but Ubba laid awake a little longer, thinking ahead to what his life might be beyond his role as king – as just another drengr in a small village in England.  
All he felt was relief. The truth was, though he’d been the leader of the army for more years than he cared to count, he had in some part of himself always wanted to be free of it. Of course, he’d learnt to be everything he was supposed to be, had learnt to enjoy it even – the glory, the victories, the triumph. Leading had come naturally to him, respect had followed. It had, at certain times in his life, felt like it was the sum total of who he was; but now that the decision had been made to leave that life, he was ready to seek out a new version of himself. He did not fear it.  
What he did fear was something else entirely: it was a new kind of fear, which inevitably comes hand in hand with love – the fear that such happiness was forbidden, and some jealous god would snatch it away. The image of what their shared future might be shimmered in his minds eye – not fully formed yet, fragile, breakable - and the Nornir had been cruel before.  
He held Eivor, sleeping blissfully, all the tighter against himself until at last, he too slept.

Two nights later they lay together in Ubba’s tent beneath the walls of Repton. Outside, there was a freezing wind which hinted at coming snow; but inside there was only the warmth of the braziers and each other.  
Eivor said, ‘I will return home tomorrow. I must tell the clan, and prepare a place for you.’  
Ubba smiled fondly. ‘The thought of it will warm me in the snows of Euricscire, and in the halls of my brother.’  
Eivor kissed him and said wryly. ‘I may be in less snow, Ubba, but the weeks will be colder without you.’  
They held one another close then, Eivor feeling as though he was soaking up as much of Ubba’s warmth as he could, storing it against the coming separation. He did not want to go, but they both knew he must.

In the cold darkness of early morning, Ubba carried the torch as they went to the stable to fetch Eivor’s horse. The sleepy boy who watched over the stable took one look at them, then went back to his hay pile, muttering to himself.  
‘Unimpressed by an early morning visit by a son of Ragnar,’ Eivor said, trying to be cheerful even though he did not feel it.  
‘At least he’s honest,’ Ubba replied, his smile not reaching his eyes. He was fighting the urge to tell Eivor not to go. He knew it was ridiculous, but the feeling remained.  
They embraced briefly, Eivor pressing his face into Ubba’s chest, while Ubba buried his own face in Eivor’s hair, breathing deeply, savouring every last moment.  
‘Be safe, Ubba,’ Eivor said as they parted, and he mounted up.  
Ubba smiled wanly and shook his head, unused to anyone worrying about him, and feeling overwhelmed with worry for Eivor – a feeling totally foreign to him. He cursed himself inwardly, and squashed this feeling as best he could.  
Firmly he said, ‘And you Wolfkissed. May the ways be short until we meet again.’  
‘May Odin make it so,’ Eivor replied, holding his gaze for a long moment, then kicking his horse into a trot.  
Ubba watched him until he disappeared into the dark, then turned back into Repton. He’d been intending to wait another week or two before going to Halfdan, but now – he decided he wouldn’t wait any longer.


	6. Ravensthorpe

Ubba arrived in Ravensthorpe late at night after yule. He’d ridden through most of the night – a freezing, crystalline night, the sky filled with stars – his heart driving him forward in eagerness. He would have been faintly embarrassed by that if he stopped to think about it.   
He left his horse at the stable, and in the darkness, even after all the intervening time in the north, he found his way to the main doors of the longhouse without trouble. The doors were closed against the cold, but in the flickering light of torches, two guards kept a watch, and one of them stopped him with a curt demand to know his business.  
Ubba threw back his hood, which he had kept close around his ears against the cold, and said, ‘I am Ubba Ragnarsson. I have business with Eivor Wolfkissed.’  
The two guards stood up straighter at the sound of the name, which made Ubba raise an eyebrow, and one of them said, ‘He’s within,’ while the other pulled the door open for him.  
Ubba thanked them and stepped inside, looking around curiously.  
It was blessedly warm inside the long house, so he shucked off his cloak, draping it over one arm. It was quiet, too. If there had been a feast earlier in the night, it was long past now, and only a scattering of men and women remained in various states of drunkenness about the hall.   
Eivor was one of them, leaning forward looking into the hearth-fire, nursing a cup in his hands, a pensive look on his face. The fire painted his face in gold, and Ubba felt his breath catch in his throat. In the intervening months, he had almost forgotten how perfect Eivor’s face was, had stopped himself from remembering. It struck him now like a boot to the sternum.  
No one paid the slightest attention to his arrival, and Eivor himself hadn’t noticed, so Ubba was able to cross the hall and seat himself beside Eivor without him looking up from the fire. He stretched out his legs and waited.

For Eivor, the winter had felt like an eternity, and it was still little more than half passed; he had kept himself busy with business about the village, but his heart burnt on like the hearth-fire he stared into, especially during the long nights, when sleep illuded him and fevered memories of Ubba often provoked him to the desperate groans of self-love.   
He noticed that someone had come to sit beside him, and thinking it was probably one of his raiders come to talk spurious and drunken stories to him, he glanced up, ready to tell them to go away. He saw Ubba, but for a long moment, he could only stare at him as his eyes struggled to communicate to his brain who he was looking at; then his face lit up with that smile which made Ubba’s heart skip a beat.   
‘You’re here!’  
‘I am.’  
The words were barely out before Eivor had thrust himself into Ubba’s arms, onto his lap and began kissing his face – his lips, his cheeks, his forehead…   
Ubba felt a chuckle bubbling up inside him and then they were both laughing like idiots, out of the sheer joy of their reunion, holding each other, oblivious to the startled faces – then smothered giggles - of those in the hall still sober enough to notice what was going on. 

‘Come with me,’ Eivor said after a moment, then stood, leading Ubba into his room and closing the doors behind them.  
Feeling as though they were in a dream, they undressed each other: Eivor helping Ubba remove his armour; then off came tunics and pants, hands lingering on soft skin, prickling with the contact; lips brushing lips…   
They laid down together, Ubba holding Eivor close, his eyes drinking in the sight of his face, the love in his eyes, and with a gentle hand, he traced every beloved line with his fingertips – his jawline, his neck, the sweep of his collar bone, bumping over each one of his ribs…   
Eivor’s eyes were closed, alive to every sensation, so overwhelmed by emotion and sensuality that he felt he was drowning… when he opened his eyes again, he met Ubba’s gaze.   
‘What is it?’ Ubba asked tenderly, seeing that a thought was hovering on his lips.  
Eivor swallowed heavily then blurted, ‘I love you.’  
Ubba smiled crookedly, feeling something in his chest clench. He whispered, ‘And I love you, Eivor.’

They made love then:   
At first slowly, tenderly, as though they were discovering each other afresh, seeing one another with eyes newly awakened…   
…every scar traced; every tattoo caressed; every inch of skin memorised; every inch worshipped, accepted, loved…   
… and then more fiercely, their souls catching alight, their passion burning through them as they strove together, seeking the perfect, shimmering moment of release…   
… their hearts beating wildly, their skin slick with sweat, their throats raw…   
… then falling together into sweet, blissful heat of oblivion. 

‘There’s something I haven’t told you,’ Ubba said in the dark and warmth of their bed later that night.  
Eivor, half asleep, murmured, ‘I didn’t give you much chance. What is it?’   
Ubba sighed. ‘Halfdan wants me to stay with the army until he’s finished with Euriscire. I argued for another man to take my place, but you know what he’s like. He wouldn’t hear it – not yet, he said.’  
Eivor sighed too. ‘Well - another year or two. I can bear it if you can.’  
‘As difficult as he is, he is my brother,’ Ubba said gently.  
After a short pause, Eivor asked, ‘You’ll return to Repton then, come spring?’  
‘I will.’  
They were quiet for a time, each thinking their own thoughts, before Eivor said, ‘You must do what is right for your family. You will always have a home here, with me.’  
He said quietly, ‘I will give my summers to my brother, but my winters are yours.’ He kissed him gently then, sealing his oath.


	7. Suthsexe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that an addition has been made to the previous chapter. This chapter may be puzzling if you missed it :)

Everything had become intensely personal and difficult for Eivor. That Sigurd was so close yet still so far away was a constant sting to his feelings, and had driven him into making rash decisions; Brothir had died as a result, and while Broder had looked at him with no anger in his face, only misery, for Eivor that had stung more than reprimands would have; then Guthrum had made it all infinitely worse by chastising him like a child in front of everyone, including Ubba. Eivor had swallowed his pride, accepted his words, and tried to not be angered by them – but he was anyway. It had been fortunate that Ubba was there – it had been a cautionary glance from him that had enabled Eivor calm himself and remain civil with Guthrum, despite the urge to punch him in the face.  
They had agreed while still at Ravensthorpe that it would be best that they maintain a restrained relationship when amongst allies and those not so immediately ‘their people’. It felt strange to Eivor to act as though Ubba was just another ally, but after Guthrum had stalked away into the forest, he was at last able to speak with Ubba.  
Eivor said coolly, ‘Ubba Ragnarsson. It puts me at ease to see you here. Welcome.’  
Ubba’s eyes danced with amusement, but he said sternly, ‘Eivor Wolfkissed tempts me with a swipe at Wessex. Who am I to resist?’  
Eivor felt himself responding to the warm, powerful presence Ubba always exuded; he sounded less formal as he continued, ‘Here we might finish the work your father began a decade back. Are you ready?’  
There was a definite glint in Ubba’s eye as he said, ‘More than ready. I am hungry.’  
Eivor felt a tightness in his stomach; by Thor’s Hammer he wanted. He allowed himself a small smile. ‘We have work to do,’ he said, still carefully neutral, but the look they shared was anything but neutral.

After he and Ubba had burnt the grain stores in Guildford and fought off half an army between them, they walked slowly back to the forward camp, the sun just then sinking low in the sky.  
‘You did well to keep things formal,’ Ubba said, a slight teasing smile quirking the corner of his mouth as he added, ‘I enjoyed it.’  
Eivor looked at him with an amused shake of his head. ‘It would have been easier had you not tempted me with that talk of being hungry.’  
Ubba grinned. ‘I like to be direct,’ he said warmly.  
Eivor shook his head again, smiling for a moment himself, but after a pause, he continued seriously, ‘I am glad you’re here. You saved me from myself.’  
Ubba understood what he was talking about. ‘Guthrum judged you too swiftly. Your strategy is sound. You have a lion’s heart and a crow’s cunning. He will see it soon enough.’  
Eivor looked up at him, grateful for the praise, but not entirely willing to accept it. ‘I made a mistake in haste, and lost a friend and other good men because of it. Who else should be blamed but me?’  
Ubba shook his head, a frown between his brows. ‘This is war, Wolfkissed. Your friend knew the risks, and now he feasts in Odin’s hall. Guthrum should know better than to chastise you for the whims of battle.’  
Eivor nodded thoughtfully. What Ubba said meant far more to him than Guthrum’s words ever would. ‘Thank you,’ he said softly after a moment, before changing the subject. ‘How was Repton?’  
‘Empty,’ he said simply, letting his eyes fill in the blanks. ‘And how was Essexe?’  
Eivor shook his head. ‘Strange. To gain the alliance, I had to kidnap a Frankish princess, who happened to also be the ealdorman’s wife.’  
Ubba chuckled, the rare chuckle that Eivor valued so highly because it came so seldom. ‘Tell me?’  
Eivor smiled and obliged him – the story blessedly taking his thoughts from Sigurd for a time.  
After he’d told of Rollo and the kidnapping, he added, ‘The ealdorman is a strange man.’  
‘How so?’  
He said wryly, ‘I had only known him for a moment when he asked me if love had ever burnt me with its sweet pain.’  
Ubba looked at him, a smile tilting one corner of his mouth. ‘An odd way to begin a conversation. What did you tell him?  
Eivor flushed a little. ‘I said there was pain enough in battle.’  
Ubba raised an eyebrow and then chuckled again, looking away.

Later, they stood on the cliff that overlooked Portcestre Castle, both wrapped in their own thoughts. The sun was just then sinking beneath the horizon, and behind them the sounds of the camp rose and fell away, or were blown away by the wind.  
Everyone in the camp left them alone. It was clear that they knew that there was something between the two of them, despite their keeping everything as contained as they could. Eivor had been forced to acknowledge to himself that some things could not be hidden, and the love between them after their time at Repton and Ravensthorpe clearly made it impossible to hide, even had rumour not done its work.  
Ubba said, ‘Tomorrow we will have him back.’  
‘Yes,’ Eivor said sounding distracted.  
They had talked strategy all afternoon, and Ubba could hear that he was still running over everything in his mind. He said, ‘You can put it aside for a time, Eivor. Everything is in place.’  
Eivor sighed, his voice sounding sad and tense. ‘Until we have him, I will continue to fear that Sigurd will be killed. What if we’ve missed something?’  
Ubba could do nothing to quiet these worries, but he sought to comfort him. He moved to stand behind him, and Eivor did not resist as he placed his arms around his shoulders, holding him against himself as they both looked out at the castle.  
Eivor felt like he was taking shelter within the warm circle of Ubba’s arms. He leant back into him, and as the moments passed, Eivor felt the worry slowly leech out of himself, not leaving him entirely, but much lessened. He slowly lost himself in the slow rhythm of Ubba’s breathing; the gentle touch of his fingertips, which he was absently running up and down one arm; the warmth that enveloped him. There was no desire in it, only love.  
For a long time, they remained like that, looking out at the castle, finding comfort and momentary peace in the warmth of being together.


	8. A Yuletide Gift

Eivor woke in the longhouse in the still-dark hours of the morning and stretched sleepily. He had come home the night before, and crawled into bed already half asleep. Ubba had stirred, thrown an arm over him and continued to snore.  
It had taken Eivor longer to get home than he’d hoped, and it was now a few days past the yuletide. After all was finished in Suthsexe, and he’d seen Sigurd safely – if not happily – at home, he’d shuttled away to Lincolnshire for a few months before going on to Jorvik.  
Eivor opened his eyes then, realising that there was a light in the room. He looked over his shoulder and found Ubba sitting up on the edge of the bed, his broad back to Eivor. He took a moment to admire how perfectly formed his back was - muscular but lean, covered with tattoos. Eivor had read those which ran from his shoulders in neat rows to two thirds of the way down his back. They told a portion of the saga of Ragnar Lothbrok, and of his step-grandfather, Sigurd, who had slain the dragon. The beast itself was depicted winding upwards from his left hip to the opposite shoulder. Eivor’s eyes took in his narrow waist, following the dragon up to broad shoulders, then to his hands which were at the back of his head. He was attempting to un-braid his own hair.  
Eivor sat up, and Ubba stopped what he was doing for a moment, glancing backwards over his shoulder with a smile. ‘Did I wake you, Wolfkissed?’  
Eivor threw off the blankets, and on his knees, shuffled across the bed, Ubba watching him with shining eyes, admiring him in his turn.  
‘No,’ he said, kissing him sweetly over his shoulder; then said, ‘Let me.’  
Ubba dropped his hands with a grateful sigh and handed him the bone comb which had been lying beside him.  
Carefully - far more carefully than Tove had ever done his hair - Eivor removed the leather ties, and after tenderly kissing him on the shoulder, he began his work. Pressing his chest to Ubba’s back, sharing their body warmth against the chill in the room, he slowly worked with deft fingers to unwind his plaits, then with careful use of the comb, he teased out each snarl of hair, taming the messy tangle it had been.  
‘It’s grown long,’ he murmured, as he threw the comb aside. He gently tangled his fingers in his now loose hair and gently pulled his head sideways, so he could kiss and nuzzle at the nape of his neck, the place that he knew always tipped Ubba over the edge, breathing deeply of his scent. Ubba moaned low in his throat, his eyes closed with pleasure, caressing the back of Eivor’s head with one hand. After a moment, he twisted around to face Eivor and their lips met as Ubba took charge, pushing Eivor back onto the bed.

In the afterglow, tired but content, their eyes closed, Ubba said with a smile in his voice, ‘I’ll have to get you to do my hair more often, Wolfkissed.’  
Eivor was in a playful mood and said, ‘What’s in it for me?’  
Ubba propped his head up on his elbow, and looked down at him. Eivor opened his eyes, still smiling, but Ubba had grown serious, despite the happiness that was still visible in his eyes.  
‘I bought you a gift,’ he said, tilting his head slightly. ‘Will that sweeten the deal?’  
Eivor grinned cheekily. ‘Depends what the gift is, I suppose.’  
Ubba snorted. ‘With an attitude like that, I might just keep it for myself.’  
‘Then you can do your own hair, if you only offer gifts you intend to keep for yourself.’ He closed his eyes again, sighing happily.  
He felt Ubba shift around for a moment, then he took Eivor’s left hand and placed something in it, before closing Eivor’s fingers over it and holding them closed with his own hand.  
Eivor sat up, curious now.  
Ubba smiled shyly. ‘I give you this as a mark of my respect for you.’ Then he released Eivor’s hand, allowing him to see what the gift was.  
Laying in the palm of his hand was a silver ring, engraved with stylised horses around the band.  
His eyes widened, looking down at the ring; then he looked up into Ubba’s eyes, and said in a low, intense voice, ‘Ubba.’  
‘Will you wear it?’ he murmured.  
‘Of course,’ Eivor managed to say despite the lump in his throat. He slipped it onto the finger which it fitted best. In a voice which sounded strange to his own ears, he said, ‘I’ll never take it off.’ Then he added, ‘And I will comb your hair as often as you like.'  
Ubba chuckled, then took the hand with the ring on it, kissed it, and took Eivor to himself again.

One morning towards the end of winter, Eivor had just finished making his plans with Randvi to go north, summoned by Halfdan Ragnarsson, and had turned to go back into the hall, when he stopped in his path, smiling.  
On the benches near the hearth, Ubba was sitting with the children from the village. The youngest, only five summers old, was tucked onto his lap. He was telling them a tale, gesturing with the hand that wasn’t holding the child firmly on his knee. Eivor could not hear exactly what he was saying, but the children were asking him questions and he was clearly doing his best to answer them. Suddenly, Ubba let out a burst of laughter, a great booming laugh from his belly, and Eivor felt such a wave of love he felt tears spring into his eyes.  
Randvi came up beside him and said, ‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard Ubba laugh before.’  
Eivor looked at her, a crooked smile on his face. ‘Neither have I.’  
Randvi rested a hand on his arm, smiling gently. ‘He’s happy with you. I’m glad for you both.’  
Vegh, who was sitting within earshot, interposed flatly, ‘You’ve made him soft, Wolfkissed.’  
Eivor looked over at him and grinned. Vegh had come with Ubba to the village for the first time that winter, and it was clear that he felt at home there. He’d begun teaching the children how to fight with Ubba’s oversight, which their parents had viewed with pleasure. It wasn’t every village that had a son of Ragnar to train their future warriors.  
‘One day you’ll be just the same,’ Eivor said to Vegh.  
‘That’s what he said,’ he replied with one arched eyebrow, ‘But not me. I’m going to be a drengr until I die gloriously in battle.’  
Eivor smiled and shook his head. Perhaps he would, perhaps he wouldn’t. It had been Eivor’s dream once; how things had changed.

When spring arrived, and the woods behind Ravensthorpe had become a sea of bluebells, Eivor went with Ubba to the crossroads behind the village to say goodbye, leading the horse behind them, dragging out the moment of parting as long as they could. Ubba was going south this time, while Eivor went north. Guthrum had called for Ubba and his army to march west with him, making a strike into Hamtunscire. Ubba had reservations about the plan, feeling the timing was premature, but he could not refuse such an old ally.  
The sun had just risen, but a light sun shower was falling.  
‘This will be the last time,’ Ubba said quietly into Eivor’s hair as they had a final embrace.  
‘I know,’ Eivor said with more confidence than he felt. ‘Halfdan will give his word, I’ll make sure of it.’  
Ubba smiled, and released Eivor. ‘If anyone can win him around, it will be you.’ He kissed him on the forehead, and then mounted up.  
‘Enough goodbyes,’ he said, trying to sound like his old self, though the difficulty of parting never got easier. ‘May the ways be short that lead us back together, Eivor Wolfkissed.’  
‘May Odin make it so, Ubba Ragnarsson,’ he said firmly.


	9. The Bank of the River Afon

Alfred’s words rung in Eivor’s ears, and he couldn’t bear them… he couldn’t bear them. That Ubba had been defeated two days before, his army ambushed in their camp and annihilated on the banks of the River Afon, that Ubba himself was...   
In Eivor’s head, the words tumbled away, and a great tumult began in his chest, in his stomach - fear, panic, sorrow, anger…   
All he could do was stare at Alfred, unable to believe him, unable to hear him.  
Even though he told himself that it could not be so, that Alfred spoke out of spite, there was a dread coursing through him that was so overwhelming he felt physically sick with it, his hands shaking as he turned sharply away and raced back to the ship.  
His voice was tight and low as he told his helmsman where to go. No one said a word; the raiders just raised the sail and grimly stared ahead in stony silence. They too had got to know Ubba during the previous winters; he had come to be as much a part of the clan as any of them. There was no one amongst them that did not fear what they would find… nor what Eivor would do if they found Ubba dead.

The ships pulled up onto the shore couldn’t be missed, nor the carnage in the camp beyond. Alfred hadn’t lied about that then.  
The tents were in tatters; piles of crates and other paraphernalia had been burnt, and the pall of smoke lingered in the valley, the ash stirred up afresh by the feet of the raiders as they leapt ashore. Corpses from both sides of the battle could be seen spread across the camp and into the marshy land beyond, left where they had fallen. Ravens circled overhead.   
Now that they were there, in an unexpected moment of weakness, Eivor could not bear to get out of the boat. His feelings were overwrought. The anxiety for Ubba, the smell of death and smoke, of blood and mud was almost enough to make him vomit. He closed his eyes and leant against the gunnel for a long moment, his knuckles white, focussing on his own breathing, on not being sick.   
Finnr stayed with him, ordering everyone else to search, while resting a compassionate hand on Eivor’s shoulder.  
‘We’ll search Wolfkissed. You shouldn’t see it if –‘  
‘No,’ he said raggedly. ‘No. Don’t say it.’  
Finnr nodded, tears in his eyes. ‘Alright,’ he said gently. ‘Alright.’

They searched the battle field, then the marshland around, and even into the hills a-ways, but of Ubba’s body there was not trace. Only his axe, bloodied and half buried in the mud of the riverbank, which Rollo brought to Eivor, handing it to him as though it were a sacred relic.  
Eivor only stared at it for a moment, willing his eyes to unsee it; but then he held out both hands and took it, sitting abruptly on one of the benches on the ship, the axe across his knees, looking down at it.   
In those first moments, he felt only emptiness, the numbness of sorrow. He wanted to hope – felt the unbidden, frantic wingbeats of it in his chest like a moth trapped behind glass – but it was hopeless. Ubba would never have left his axe if he were alive.  
‘Someone must know where he is,’ Finnr said quietly. ‘We’ll find him, Wolfkissed. None of us will stop until we know his fate.’  
Eivor stood then, placing the axe on his back, and leapt off the ship. There was something in his face that they none of them had seen before – a kind of rage that stopped any expressions of sympathy dead on their tongues.  
He glanced up to the hill top on the other side of the river, where Fort Uffentune stood, commanding the valley. He knew it was one of Alfred’s forts.   
Finnr saw the direction of his thoughts. ‘No, Eivor. Your death will not change…’  
Eivor looked at him savagely and cut him off. ‘Finnr - Take the ship and got to Glowercestre. Ask Tewdwr if he has heard of any survivors passing through the city. Everyone knows that we’re allies – they might have taken Ubba there. Rollo, you take as many of the crew as can be spared and keep searching the area for survivors.’  
‘What are you going to do, Wolfkissed?’ Rollo asked.  
Eivor’s face was set in hard lines. ‘I have something to take care of up the hill, and then I will join you in Glowercesterscire.’  
They all looked up at the fort, and then back at Eivor.  
‘You can’t…’ Finnr began, but again he stopped when Eivor glared at him.   
‘Why are you all still here? You have your orders.’ Then he was away, running up the hill towards the fort, leaving the raiders to look at one another in consternation.  
‘He’ll get himself killed,’ Rollo said to Finnr.  
Finnr sighed. ‘Ordinarily I’d agree, but today… I don’t envy the Saxon that faces him.’

Smoke furled out of the fort above the satisfying sound of crackling flames. Eivor stood for a moment, looking back at the destruction. The soldiers who had been within were all dead, and the fort would be nothing but ashes by morning. He felt no pity, as they had felt none for those they’d killed in the valley below.   
He felt no satisfaction, no appeasement of his rage, only a sense of justice having been served.   
He took out a rag and wiped the blood from Ubba’s axe almost tenderly, before casting the rag away and putting the axe onto his back once more.  
Grimly, he turned then, and rode away towards Glowercestre.

Finnr was pacing beside the ship when Eivor arrived, and as soon as he saw him, he ran a few steps to meet him, saying urgently, ‘They passed through here, Eivor.’  
Eivor’s heart leapt into his throat. ‘Who did?’  
‘The survivors – with Ubba; but…’  
‘He’s alive?’ Eivor interrupted, assailed by a flurry of feelings without names, and a distinct physical pain which was just as though he’d been kicked in the stomach. His voice sounded strangled.  
‘He was,’ Finnr said, very gently, placing a cautionary hand on his arm. ‘But Eivor - he was in bad shape. He’d been speared four times, from every direction. He won’t have…’ He trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid.  
Eivor closed his eyes and shook his head. ‘Where did they take him?’  
‘To Halfdan, in Jorvik.’  
He opened his eyes, and said gently, ‘Then we will go to Jorvik. Gather the crew.’


	10. Jorvik

The longhouse in Jorvik was a haven of warmth against the thick snow outside. In one of the rooms on one side of the hall, Ubba was laid out on a bed covered in furs and blankets. He was awake, fully aware of his surroundings for the first time since the battle, but also for the first time, conscious of the pain that was present in his body. It was bearable only because of the juice of the poppy his brother’s healer, Moira, had been giving him.  
She’d been to see him already that morning to re-dress his wounds while he was still blurred with the drug. Though when she was finished, she’d told him they were beginning to heal, he didn’t believe her. Her brow had been drawn the whole time – not the face of a woman who was pleased with his progress. He was smothered now in poultices and bound with bandages around what felt like the entirety of his body. He was no stranger to injury, but this was something else entirely.   
He had never felt so weak and helpless.  
His survival was what the Christians would call a miracle; though of course, it was nothing more than fate… still, somehow, he could not help but think it was more than he deserved. He was still certain that he would die, but there was some consolation in knowing that he would at least do so with an axe in his hand, even if not his own.   
The thought triggered an intense flash of painful memory, and he closed his eyes with a grimace. There’d been time enough after the fourth and final spear had entered his left shoulder to realise that he’d dropped his axe, the one his father had gifted him when he gained his fourteenth winter, by then, already taller than all his brothers but Halfdan. There had been time enough before the darkness claimed him to realise that he would not be going to Valhalla; that he would never see his brothers or his father or Eivor again. Instead, he had thought he was doomed wander Helheim for eternity.  
Across this painful memory, his one constant companion in his strange, floating dream state, another fear suddenly dashed. He had the strangest vision of the thought as a man who’d been screaming at him until he was hoarse in a foreign language, and now suddenly, the shouting formed into words he could understand: Does Eivor know you’re alive?   
If Eivor didn’t know, only the gods knew what he would do, thinking he was dead. He’d seen the rage he was capable of when those he cared for were in harm’s way.  
‘Moira?’ he tried to call, but his voice came out wrong, a slurred whisper.  
She was sitting near enough that she heard. She came to his side and placed a cool wrist on his forehead, checking his temperature. ‘Are you in pain?’  
‘No,’ he said, frowning, chasing the thought, the words to formulate what he wanted to say were slippery as eels. ‘You must ask my brother to send for Eivor Wolfkissed.’  
Moira said soothingly, ‘A messenger was sent to Ravensthorpe two days since. Vegh insisted.’  
Ubba sighed, relieved to let the exertion of worrying slip away once more.

Later in the morning, Halfdan came to see him as he did each day, whether he was awake or not.   
He smiled to see him with his eyes open. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked as he seated his bulky frame on the tiny stool Moira used.  
Ubba said with a voice that was as firm as he could make it, ‘The pain is not great.’ He was lying, the pain was steadily increasing as the day passed, but until he could not tolerate it anymore, he was determined to deal with it.  
‘Moira does good work,’ Halfdan said, then glanced at Ubba out of the corner of his eye then away as he added, ‘I heard you asked after Eivor.’  
Ubba shifted a little, but immediately regretted it as a shaft of pain shot through his shoulders. He winced, and said, ‘Yes.’  
Halfdan didn’t notice; he was looking at the wall opposite as he said thoughtfully, ‘Ubba… When you came to speak to me about leaving your command, you should have told me what it is between you and Eivor Wolfkissed. If I had known, I may have spoken differently.’  
‘Well. You know now.’   
‘Only because Vegh told me.’ He tugged at his beard for a moment, then sighed. ‘I should have let you give up command when you asked me, then it would not have come to this. With Faravid dead, and Ivarr, you are all I have left, brother. I should have given you what you asked for.’  
Ubba grimaced, feeling sweat in his brow. ‘The Nornir wove this pattern long ago. It is not ours to change.’  
Halfdan noticed his pain at last, and resting his hand with concern on Ubba’s arm for a moment, he stood and said, ‘I will fetch Moira to you.’

The weather had been awful the entire journey to Jorvik, but Eivor had refused to stop; not for blizzards or the frigid cold of those icy nights; not until he knew one way or another if Ubba lived or had gone on to Valhalla before him. He looked for signs of mourning around the city and the longhouse itself with a mixture of dread and hope, and seeing none, he felt hope flutter alive inside himself.  
He strode into the longhouse, his heart in his mouth; he sought Halfdan out with his eyes and then almost jogged towards him, eagerly searching his face, blessedly seeing not grief, but worry. His hope fluttered again. ‘Halfdan King,’ he began, but Halfdan interrupted, pointing to the room in which Ubba lay and said, ‘Go. He’s in there.’  
Eivor’s heart was bursting as he entered the room Halfdan had indicated, closing the doors behind himself, and stepped quietly to the bedside.  
Ubba was a deep sleeper, made more so by the drugs, so he didn’t stir. Eivor had time to look him over. He rested uneasily, occasionally grimacing in his sleep, but he was alive. Every beloved line of his face was as Eivor remembered it; every tattoo, every scar; his hair it’s usual messy tangle; his scent…   
Eivor sunk onto the stool by the bed and tenderly took Ubba’s hand. He buried his face in it, felt the warmth of it against his skin, felt his broken heart mending in a painful, happy, frightened way. It was clear just at a glance that Ubba’s struggle was far from won.  
But. He lived; and that was more than Eivor had dared to hope for.  
‘Eivor?’ Ubba said sleepily a short time later, turning his head on the pillow to face him, eyes blurry.  
Eivor’s voice was thick with emotion. ‘Yes, I’m here.’  
A warm smile of pure love lit Ubba’s face; it took him a moment through the haziness of his mind to notice that Eivor’s face was streaked with tears. He made an inarticulate, indescribable sound of pity, love and comfort.  
The exhaustion, the relief, the release from the agony of not knowing, was too much. It was all too much. Something inside of Eivor snapped. The tears came, and for a long time it was all that he could do to weep, face buried in the bed, while Ubba gently stroked his hair, trying to comfort him.   
He wanted nothing more than to pull Eivor to his chest and wrap his arms around him, but it was impossible.  
He told himself it was enough though, that they could see each other again, for whatever limited time was left to him. 

The days and nights that followed blurred into each other for Eivor, as the first blessed relief that Ubba lived passed, and the fear returned as the true extent of his injuries became apparent.   
He had been speared with pikes in both shoulders; once in the thigh, which seemed to be healing quickly; and once in the left side, though fortunately his armour, and the ribs themselves, had prevented the spear from reaching his internal organs. It was clear that the pain was ever present, and the danger of infection was a constant worry, even with Moira’s careful attention.   
Sometimes Ubba seemed like his old self, but more often, even when he wasn’t drugged, he was lost in distant thoughts, as though his spirit was already halfway to Valhalla.   
Those times were the hardest to bear.  
It was in the early hours of the morning – the passing of time only discernible to Eivor by what he could hear in the hall, and it was just then silent – when Ubba turned to him and said dreamily, ‘Do you remember that night when we camped near Tamworth, after you sweet-talked that stinking sellsword into telling us where Burgred was?’  
‘I remember.’  
‘The moon was full that night, the land alight as if it were day. You were watchful, staring into the fire with quiet intensity. I wanted to know what you were thinking.’  
‘I remember you were quiet too, brooding. I didn’t know what to make of you.’  
He smiled gently then, wincing a little as he shifted position. ‘I told you we would weave our sagas together before Tamworth, but it wasn’t until that night that I really knew it to be true.’  
Eivor smiled softly, taking his hand in his and kissing it, their eyes meeting for a long, warm moment. ‘Why did you not tell me your thoughts?’  
Ubba smiled to himself before he said, ‘I couldn’t tell what you would say.’  
‘You mean you were nervous?’ Eivor asked, gently teasing.  
Ubba wouldn’t admit it, though his eyes gleamed at Eivor in the lamplight. ‘I supposed you had someone - in the village, or amongst the summer army.’ He smiled warmly. ‘How could it be otherwise?’  
Eivor smiled but he looked away. Ubba added with more seriousness in his voice, ‘There was someone, Wolfkissed. You need not say it. I knew it then, and I know it now.’  
Eivor sighed, and met his eye once more. ‘Why speak of this now, Ubba? It is the past.’  
He looked at Eivor with intensity. ‘Because there will be others, Eivor, when I have gone to Valhalla.’   
Eivor felt as though he had been punched in the chest. With a pained expression, he said, ‘That will not be for a long time yet, Ubba Ragnarsson.’   
He turned the subject to other things, but the feeling that Ubba was saying goodbye to him remained, an aching pain that would not shift. He was not ready to say goodbye to the man he loved – he would never be ready.

When Ubba slept once more, he slipped outside to get some air. The sky above was covered in cloud, no stars to be seen. There would be more snow that day, no doubt about that.  
His heart was unbearably heavy. He walked, oblivious to the cold, unaware and uncaring where his feet took him. He found himself standing, looking out over the city, a scattering of yellow lights in the darkness below.   
‘Eivor?’  
He turned, and found Vegh limping towards him. In the uncertain light of the torch nearby he saw that the young man had an angry slash across his face left to right. He was limping heavily.   
‘I’m glad to see you,’ the young man said, his voice heavy with sorrow, not at all as it had been. ‘I thought the weather might prevent you getting here before he...’ Eivor’s angry glance cut him off, and in quick apology, he said, ‘Forgive me.’  
Eivor grasped the rail before him, stopping his anger from flaring up. He recognised this as rage, not at Vegh, but anger that stood in the stead of the very real fear that he couldn’t bear to hear spoken. He looked back out at the city, breathing deeply, and asked as coolly as he could, ‘I heard that it was you who brought him here.’  
‘Yes, me and five other survivors,’ the young man said, pulling his cloak more tightly around himself, as though warding off the memories that rose up in his mind’s eye. He had not spoken of what had happened yet, not even when Halfdan had asked. He’d had some time to process the memories since then, but it was still intensely painful for the young man to contemplate.  
Haltingly, he said,‘I thought he was dead. I saw… I saw him fall. I could do nothing then. I could only try to escape with my own life intact. I laid in those filthy marshes in a puddle of blood and mud for hours, until darkness fell and the Saxons had gone back up to their fort.’ He gripped his hands together. ‘I wanted to bury him decently... I couldn’t leave him there like that. Eivor, if you’d seen him…’ He stopped, rubbing his face with his hands for a moment. ‘When I found he was still breathing, I... He had lost so much blood, I didn’t believe he could live. None of us did. He was unconscious most of the way to Jorvik, but when he was awake, gods… he could only groan and cry out with the pain.’ Tears had begun to fall and he brushed them away impatiently with the back of his hand.  
Eivor had a lump in his throat as he said, ‘You should feel proud of yourself, Vegh. You saved him. If not from death, from being denied Valhalla.’  
Vegh didn’t say anything for a long time, but at last, his voice breaking, he said, ‘Eivor - I don’t want him to die. Not even to go to Valhalla.’  
The words were like a dagger to Eivor’s heart. ‘Neither do I,’ he said raggedly, his heart breaking all over again. ‘But we must face it, if that is his fate.’


	11. Thread upon Thread

The better part of a year passed before Ubba was able to return to Ravensthorpe, Eivor refusing to leave his side. They’d taken the journey in easy stages, and the boat at last drew near the village on a beautiful afternoon of tumbling golden leaves and the sweet birdsong.  
Eivor stood behind the helmsman, Ubba seated in the nearest position. He looked up at Eivor and they smiled at one another.  
‘Home,’ Ubba said, and Eivor nodded, his heart full of happiness.  
He looked along the river to the settlement and remembered the last time they’d left it – saying goodbye at the crossroads at the beginning of the previous spring, the promise made that it would be the last time they parted. Now they both knew it to be true. Ubba would never march to war again. The injuries to his shoulders meant he could not raise his axe above his head; his limp meant he was now too slow to move amongst the whims of the fray. He would never fight again, but he'd accepted that fact with good grace. His spirits had returned with the summer, and his sense of humour with it. 

The whole village were waiting for them at the jetty, Randvi having set a watch for their coming. There was an overflowing of joy, shouts of welcome and cheer. They greeted everyone, their hearts filled with the pleasure of being home at last, of being alive.  
Randvi met them at the dock with a smile. ‘It is good to see you both back home,’ she said warmly.  
Eivor embraced her, and she continued, ‘There will be a feast tonight. You may wish to rest before then. You can be sure your cups will not be allowed to empty tonight.’  
Ubba smiled and said to Eivor, ‘I wish to go to Tove first. I’ll find you later.’ He kissed Eivor then, softly and gently, and murmured against his lips, ‘I will always find you.’  
Eivor felt the heat balling in his belly. Since Ubba had begun to walk again, they’d been careful not to risk any strenuous activities; but as the days had passed, and Ubba’s strength had returned, so had their desire for one another.  
He watched Ubba walk away, feeling his wanting coursing through him like fire in his veins. When he remembered Randvi was there, he looked to her with an apologetic smile.  
She slowly shook her head with a wistful smile. ‘I wish Sigurd would look at me like that,’ she murmured, flushing slightly.  
Eivor put his arm around her shoulder comfortingly, and they turned together towards the longhouse.

Eivor was asleep in their room when Ubba came back from the tattoo shop, but he was woken by the sound of the doors opening. Ubba’s hair had been freshly cut and braided. Their eyes met with one of those smiles that would melt iron, their desire, ever a living thing, uncoiled between them, drawing them together.  
Eivor felt the smile like a physical touch, but he said, ‘Show me?’  
Ubba came to the bedside and sat, taking off his tunic, revealing his back to him.  
The lower third of Ubba’s back, the portion beneath the dragon’s tail which had been bare before, was now covered in fresh runes.  
Eivor read it carefully. He felt colour mount his cheeks as he read, for this was their own saga: Ubba’s arriving from the Dane-lands; his victories in Northumbria; then of his, Eivor’s, joining with the Ragnarssons; how they had taken Tamworth and secured peace in Sciropscire; the alliance forged between their clans by their joining at Repton; and at last, snaking around the tip of the dragon’s tail, the Nornir’s final trick, the return of Ubba from death. Across his lower back, as though to emphasise that the saga had ended, was a depiction of Ubba's axe, and upon it was perched a pair of ravens.  
‘Ubba,’ Eivor said, the warmth and intensity of his voice doing the work of a thousand words.  
Ubba turned, a soft smile on his lips. He said nothing, but took Eivor’s face between his hands, and kissed him deeply, all the love between them overflowing… then there were no more words for a time.

In the late afternoon, both relaxed and full of joy, Ubba and Eivor sat side by side outside the longhouse as the sun was setting. They were quiet, filled with pure, simple contentment at being together, watching the changing colours of the light before them, the richness of the yellows which slowly faded as the velvety blacks and blues of night crept up from the east and claimed the sky. Around them the village was humming with life as the celebration for their return was prepared – the scent of food cooking, the sound of people gathering in the longhouse, talking and laughing, some already beginning on the mead.  
They both knew they should go inside and join the celebration, but for a moment longer they remained where they were. They were sitting close together, sharing warmth, but no more than that.  
Ubba said softly, ‘I never thought it would happen.’  
Eivor looked at him, smiling in enquiry.  
‘The dream,’ he said softly, a smile playing on his lips. ‘I always told myself it would, but I never quite believed. Not until I met you.’  
Eivor took his hand in his, and kissed it. There was nothing to say to that.  
Ubba continued, ‘I realise now that I didn’t think happiness was meant for me. Always a gift for others, but not me; but now…’ he trailed off, leaning into Eivor and kissing him tenderly, ‘Now I find that it was always meant for me, I just needed you to help me find it.’  
Eivor smiled a beatific smile. He was silent for a moment, before he said, ‘When battle’s rage is stilled, and the rush of the Valkyrie’s wings have passed, there remains Ubba, his heart’s blood spilled, but alive.’  
Ubba smiled that smile; lopsided, charming, and full of love. He did not often speak poetry, but this time he knew exactly what to say.  
‘By his side the Wolfkissed one; a warrior, a lover, their sagas woven together, thread upon thread, into eternity.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and all the lovely feedback! I only hope that I have helped ease some of the suffering 'that ending' has given us all. Cheers, Jenn/Harper :)
> 
> Oh I forgot to add this little addendum: Historically speaking, I felt OK with having Ubba live, as we don’t actually know for certain when he died, as it is only written that one of Halfdan and Ivarr’s brothers (unnamed) died in 878, and we can’t even be sure Ubba was a brother at all (he was never listed as one of Ragnar’s sons until hundreds of years later).... it might have been him, but there were many brothers it could have been... Perhaps I’m just in denial because I like this character a lot 😂  
> If you prefer to believe he died in 878, then the end of chapter 10 is the perfect point for you to pretend this story ends 😊


End file.
